Full of Heathens
by Laveycee
Summary: The Bishop of Digne wakes in a strange not-France place. He then proceeds to wander about the city. Warnings: Slight political commentary (from an 18th century Frenchman. Not my ideas), and heathens. Also, I quite possibly butchered some of the French language, which I apologize for. K . No F451 characters, only OCs.


**So, this is yet another Creative Project my English teacher last semester had us do. The prompt was to put a character in Guy Montag's city, and to have him/her wander about, commenting on it. Luckily for me, I had the perfect character in mind: the Bishop from _Les Mis_. I will freely admit that the ending is a bit rushed; in my defense, I was running out of time the night before it was due. At some point in the future, I may go back and redo it-along with a possible expansion. I'll shut up now and let you read the story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Fahrenheit 451_ (it belongs to Ray Bradbury, rest his soul); I also don't own _Les Miserables_ (Victor Hugo can keep the Brick, rest his babbling soul).**

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**Character: Monseigneur Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel (Victor Hugo's **_**Les Miserables**_**); Bishop of Digne, France**

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The Bishop of Digne, known affectionately as Monseigneur Bienvenu, woke in a strange and unfamiliar place. _This is not France_, he realized quickly upon awakening. Monseigneur Bienvenu knew that he was far away from his home—and lying on a park bench, not his bed! There were no people walking by to tell the Bishop where he was, or to explain anything at all to him.

_I must find someone_, the Monseigneur decided. _They will know where I am... and perhaps how I came to be here. Perhaps someone will know who I am, and be willing to help a servant of God._

Monseigneur Myriel looked around to find a path leading out of the park—there was one, that did not look well-traveled; although there were no weeds or any plants at all growing on the path. The entire park seemed to be unloved; at what appeared to be high noon, the park was abandoned. _Left or right?_ The Monseigneur pondered this for a moment; then decided to go right. After walking for a few moments, Myriel came across a group of young people-the women scandalously clad, as were the men.

"Hello," Myriel greeted. "I was wondering if you could tell me where I am?"

The group stared at him.

"Am I in a country that does not speak French?"

"Dude," one of the young men said, "Why were you in a _park_?"

The way the boy said the word "park" made it seem like a swear word—a word that should not be spoken in polite company. The entire tone was one of rudeness— "You are not worth my time," the young man seemed to be saying.

"Young man, I haven't the slightest idea why I woke in a park; I simply must find my way back to Digne," Monseigneur Myriel told him.

"Where?" one of the women said.

"Digne. It is in a remote area of France."

"Have any of you ever heard of this 'France' place?" the same young woman asked.

There was a chorus of "no"s from the entire group.

"It is in Europe," Myriel verified.

"Never heard of it," a young blonde said.

"Then where am I?"

"You're in Aurora," a young dark man said helpfully.

The Monseigneur looked at him blankly.

"The United States?" a black-haired person—whether they were male or female, the Monseigneur could not tell—jumped in.

"Ah, yes, of course. But then you should know of France. The monarchy government helped your country gain its freedom—it was not so long ago that you should have forgotten." The Monseigneur was aghast—was this what had happened when the monarchy was overthrown by the rebels?

"Um... I don't know what you're talking about."

Myriel was taken aback, but decided to let it go-youths had a tendency to not listen to their elders, and they would learn better soon enough. "Where can I find a government official?" The unspoken sentence _"Where can I find someone who knows more than you?"_ hung in the air; but the group of what the Monseigneur decided were children did not seem to notice.

"Uh... I think City Hall's that way." The black-haired individual pointed down a street. "You can catch a train in about... ten minutes? I think. Anyway, it's a straight shot."

"Why're you dressed so funny?" a tiny child's voice piped—someone who had been hidden by the taller bodies surrounding it.

"I am a Bishop who was asleep when he found himself here," the Bishop said ruefully.

"What's a Bishop?" asked the child.

"A Bishop, child, is an official of the Church—a servant of God."

"What's God?"

The Bishop froze. "What did you say?"

"I want to know what God is," the child repeated.

Monseigneur Myriel's blood ran cold. "God is the Creator, child—haven't you learned this in Church?"

"Don't know what Church is."

_What is wrong with this place?!_ Myriel wanted to scream. "I—I must go," he managed, before stumbling away, shocked at the lack of knowledge.

What Myriel saw as he turned almost gave the elderly Bishop a heart attack. _Things_ flying around, almost faster than he could watch, and tall, glassy buildings. _These buildings—they must have cost more than Vatican City itself to build! If these are normal buildings, then the Cathedrals here must be taken from Heaven itself._

The Monseigneur came to a road, and considered it. He began to step forward, then retracted his foot as quickly as he had put it down when a—a _thing_ flew by, almost hitting him.

_Is there another way?_ he wondered. _And why are these roads so difficult to cross?_ Now that the Monseigneur noticed, there were no pedestrians. _But surely not everyone uses these contraptions-there must be someone other than myself walking around!_

As this thought crossed Myriel's mind, one of the things that he had seen flying around stopped a few feet away from him, and two men got out. They were wearing the same thing—_A uniform_, Myriel decided—and the two men approached him.

"Good afternoon, Monseiurs," Myriel greeted them. "I presume that it is afternoon?"

"Sir," the taller of the two men said, "Why are you walking around?"

"Yeah, why aren't you in a Beetle? Or on a train?" the short, plump one asked.

"I beg your pardon, Monseiurs. I do not know how I came to be here—if you could help me find a public official of some sort, if they could help me find a way back to Digne... It would be appreciated, and I am sure that my sister is worried."

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to come with us," the taller, politer one said, exchanging a glance with his smaller companion.

"Of course, Monseiur," Myriel said. "Will you show me to an official? Or, perhaps, one of my brothers of the cloth?"

The short officer made a sound of amusement. "A _brother of the cloth_? What's that?"

"A fellow priest, or Bishop—someone in the Church, who would be willing to help—"

"Never heard of any 'Church'…" the tall officer trailed off. "Should we bring him in for intoxication?" he murmured to the short one.

The Monseigneur couldn't believe what he had been hearing all day. "Do you know of France?" he demanded suddenly.

"What?"

"France. Europe. The country that helped yours break away from the British Empire."

"No."

With that single word of negation, the Monseigneur decided that this city was full of heathens who were obviously mentally impaired. He did not care how he did it; he only wanted to get back to Digne—to France, and to _sanity_. "I bid you a good day, Monseiurs," Myriel said, starting to walk back to the park he had woken up in.

Myriel only got a few feet away before the officers realized that he was actually leaving—not bluffing, and not being silly.

"HEY!" they thundered, racing after him. For a man in his seventies, Myriel could be quite fast when he wanted to be.

Unfortunately, Myriel was not faster than the two men. They bodily moved him into the thing, then got in themselves—the thing _moved_ at a sickening speed.

_I want to be __home_, Myriel thought miserably.

"Okay, we're here. Riley'll bring you to the Captain," the tall officer said flatly.

"Follow me," the short officer—Riley, apparently—said, opening the door.

The Bishop didn't argue, simply got out and walked after Riley, the picture of serenity—if serenity was wearing nightclothes and was an elderly Bishop from rural France.

Within a few minutes of walking through twisting corridors, Riley stopped before a large wooden door with a beautiful golden plaque that read _Captain of the Guard: James Kirk_ in neatly written script. Riley knocked on the door twice, then said loudly, "Someone to see you, Captain."

There was no reply from inside, but the door swung open, revealing a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a chair with a tall back, facing away from the door—but no sign of the "Captain of the Guard".

"You, inside," Riley said, roughly shoving the Bishop into the room.

While the Bishop did not insist on people using titles with him, the Bishop had many objections to being so roughly handled by anyone. Part of his objections had to do with the fact that he was older and was no longer as durable as he had been, although the Bishop would never admit to this fact.

In any case, the chair swung around as the door shut, revealing a man who was not short nor tall, and had average features.

"May I presume that you are the Captain?" the Monseigneur asked.

"Yes," Captain James Kirk said. "And you... you are not from here, are you?"

"No, Monseiur. I am from Digne, and I wish to return to my village and my sister."

"I'm sorry, but we can't allow that," the Captain said flatly.

"Why?"

"You have been spreading your... _oddness_ around. I can't allow that to continue. You will be held in the cells until we can figure out what to do with you."

The Monseigneur was silent, defeat written across his face.

"Riley!" the Captain called. Just before the door opened, the Captain added, "I am sorry."

_There is a humanness in him,_ Myriel thought, before turning to follow Riley to the cell.

Taking an odd moving box down, Myriel thought once again longingly of France, of his small home in the mountains.

"You'll be in here," Riley told Myriel gruffly.

The Bishop nodded slightly, entering the small, rather dark and damp cell. The only things in the cell was a small bed and a stool.

"Someone will be by to explain the process you will go through presently," Riley said, locking the door swiftly. The Bishop did not respond, but listened with his head bowed to the echoing footsteps.

As has been said before, the Bishop was rather elderly, and had gained a great appreciation for naps in recent years. While the small bed was not comfortable, the Bishop nonetheless fell asleep quickly, only to wake minutes later...

...To sunlight, and his own bed. _I'm back._ Myriel was filled with a glee he had not felt in years, leaping into his clothing and rushing out of the room and down the stairs to breakfast.

_There is no place with home,_ Myriel declared to God.

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**Could you do me the honor of possibly reviewing, please? I always like to know what people thought was good and what could have used improvement.**


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